Windows of Life
by fuzzydream
Summary: Modern AU. Ex-military, divorcee, lame and a penniless writer. John Bates doesn't have a lot to look forward in life until he sees her across the street.


**A/N**: I had this idea a few weeks ago, when Brendan and Joanne talked about what would Anna and John be doing in 2014. I've never written a modern one-shot so I hope this reads okay. Let me know what you think of it! It's a bit different from how I usually write so I'm a bit nervous. Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Downton Abbey.

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><p><em>Windows of Life <em>by_ fuzzydream_

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><p>They are having an unusually warm summer, which is not something that helps to improve his mood much these days. Anything can set him off, really – now, pushing four weeks after his last surgery, he is very much impatient, hoping to get rid of the crutches that have been his companion for the last weeks. Not even the breeze outside seems to do much against the heat, though he doubts it is just the heat that is bothering him. He really is struggling these days - moping around, doing nothing really useful with his time, the crutches on his arms serving as a barrier to anything that seemed simple before. He is impatient, though he isn't particularly sure why. He has nowhere to be and nothing to do.<p>

He passes by the study and opens the glass door that leads to the small balcony. His flat is a luxury he can barely afford, on a somewhat quiet street - or whatever one can call quiet in the heart of London. He leans against the wall, letting go of the crutches, and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He has been clean for quite a few weeks now - an advise from his doctor, who said it would help his recovery after the surgery. It seemed easy to stop, at first; he has stopped drinking alcohol a few years ago, and he has to admit he does not miss his drunk days at all. Smoking, on the other hand, took its toll on him, during the divorce and the health issues with his leg afterwards. He stopped for the sake of his health - better life quality, better recovery. He has gained some weight upon the lack of nicotine in his system though, something that did not improve his knee at all, and he was feeling so strained and impatient when he left his doctor appointment this afternoon that he bought a pack on his way back home.

He lights up the cigarette and feels relief fill his veins just as smoke fills his lungs. The laptop, sitting closed on the coffee table just behind him is quiet and useless, mocking him daily as he hasn't managed to write one single sentence in a long time. Truthfully, he hasn't even tried. Inspiration seems to have ran past him, never to be found again. A very sad fate to a writer.

He really isn't a writer, anyway. A few chronicles and tales published in newspapers and a blog that has been lying cold online for months now hardly made him a writer. No, he is an aspiring writer. He is John Bates, 43 years old, ex-military, divorcee, lame and aspiring writer. Hardly something that makes the back cover of a book these days.

He takes in the scenery before him. There are cars, cabs and buses on the street and he lets darkness wrap him in, not really bothered to turn on the lights or even sit down. He feels more relaxed now than he has felt in weeks, and he finds a certain peace in observing the quiet chaos before him. He notices how the lights of the flat right in front of his, just across the street, are lit up, which struck him as odd; the place has been empty for three months, give or take a few weeks. John never met the previous resident, but he remembered how the young man had the bad habit of playing his guitar until late at night. Now, there are boxes all around what John can only assume to be the living room.

His eyes flicker to the next door flat, where a teenager plays a video game, completely oblivious to a new neighbour arriving in the same floor. Underneath his flat, a young woman balances a baby up and down, probably attempting to make them sleep.

John always found it interesting to observe the world through this - to see different people and different lives connected by the fact that they share an address and nothing more. Different lives under the same roof perpetuated by indifferent feelings.

His eyes flicker over the flat in front of his again; a young woman is seen now, carrying a heavy box and disappearing somewhere inside the flat. He briefly wonders, for no reason other than the boredom that is overcoming him, what has made her move. Perhaps a new job, the end of a relationship or even the beginning of one. Either way, a move usually means a fresh start. He has tried a few of those before, and they somehow led him to where he is now. A penniless writer on disabilities benefits, who lost most of his possessions in a divorce a few years ago, with few good friends and no family of his own.

Two floors down, a couple is kissing and he suddenly feels even more sorry for himself. Not that he wants a relationship; quite the contrary, really. He is quite happy with his current bachelor status, and it doesn't seem like it will change anytime soon. He has his limits - physically and emotionally - and if he didn't manage to find someone suitable for him when he was healthier and less bitter he thoroughly doubts he will find someone now.

The cigarette is nearly done, but John quickly decides it will be best to stop at one. Just one, and the doctor won't notice. He should probably toss the whole pack in the trash can, really. He is just finishing it when music reaches his ears and he sees his newest neighbour of sorts outside her own balcony, which he suspects was a lot like his; he can barely distinct the music so he supposes she won't be like that guitar guy. She looks young, with her blonde hair in a ponytail and a glass in her hand - probably water, he decides. She looks like a water person.

A split of a second later, he realises she is looking at him. She is flustered, he notices that even in the dark, but smiles slightly, visibly embarrassed. He vaguely nods. She leaves the balcony. His cigarette is over. He turns around, the sight of the laptop surprising him, taunting him somehow, and he decides that it won't hurt to try to write tonight. He keeps the pack in his pocket and goes back inside, leaning on his crutches.

* * *

><p>He is sitting by the small table on the balcony, his laptop open in front of him, and though his initial idea was to write, he ended up reading politics from The Telegraph. One of the articles shows the Prime Minister with a rather sour look on his face.<p>

John is in the middle of looking for a cigarette when he notices her. She is reading a book, apparently enjoying the soft afternoon breeze; the weather has cooled down since yesterday. He has seen her just once after she moved in across the street, and that was over a week ago. He briefly wonders what is it that she does, that keeps her flat dark all evenings and the windows all closed during the day. He doesn't think too much of it, but he is fairly sure she lives alone.

She has her hair is down today, and he has never seen it that way before. Her hair is longer than he thought.

A hand slaps his shoulder and John jumps, alarmed. Robert is looking at him.

"What the-"

"I knocked and no one answered," Robert says, sitting on the chair across from John. "Thought I'd let myself in. I called yesterday too, but you didn't answer."

John cringes. "I was asleep. I was going to call you back eventually."

"I wonder when that would have been," Robert laughs. "Listen, I can't be long. I just need to remind you of Sybbie's birthday next Sunday. Think you can make it?"

"Uh… Yeah, sure," John frowns slightly. Birthdays require presents. He isn't particularly good at shopping. "How old is she again?"

"She's turning three and she likes dolls and puzzles," Robert stands up. "Don't forget it. Sunday."

"I'll be there," John smiles. "You sure you can't stay?"

"Yeah, I have a meeting with my lawyer," Robert rolls his eyes. "Best get going. I'll see myself out. It's great that you're writing again, John."

John's face remains as cool as ever. "Yeah. See you on Sunday, Rob."

His friend leaves, and John takes a deep breath. He needs to think of a birthday present now. His eyes focus on the flat across the street, and he isn't sure why. His new neighbour has disappeared again.

* * *

><p>He spends a few minutes googling presents for a three-year-old little girl, and then decides to write some. The cigarette is, for the first time, forgotten.<p>

He's in his element now. He has been writing quite a bit over the last few weeks, and he thinks that perhaps it will go well this time around, but he doesn't dwell on it too much. Jazz is playing from the study, the windows are open and the weather is very pleasant. There's a party across the street and John somehow sees it as an inspiration of sorts. He doesn't envy those people; he was never particularly social and he certainly isn't about to start now. The movement does attract his attention every now and then, but he barely glances from his laptop. He does a double take of it now, and sees her.

She's alone, standing on the small balcony, a glass of something in her hand. She's serious, apparently watching the street just under them, but he thinks she is barely even noticing it. Several people stand inside her apartment, and yet she chooses a lone moment by herself. Perhaps it's her birthday, some people take these things so seriously. Or maybe she has just been promoted at work. Or the party could be for someone else.

Their eyes meet a second later, and he's caught in surprise by it. She looks directly at him, and he can barely make out the same kind smile that greeted him weeks ago. He gives her a sympathetic smile. A woman calls her from right behind her and their connection is lost, but only for a second. He can almost hear her sigh as she waves weakly at him and goes back inside. No, he doesn't envy her, but for the first time he envies the people there, at the party, who have the chance to talk to her.

He shakes his head; clearly the late hour is messing with his head. He will never properly meet this woman, and even if he does he is quite sure that she won't be even remotely interested in him. It is hardly what he wants, anyway - surely she has better options than a man like him.

He contemplates making tea once more, but decides to head to bed instead. He isn't hosting a party and it will be nice to have an early night for once. In the back of his mind, he hopes that his neighbour will have fun, and wonders for the first time how it is like to be in her flat.

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><p>He's at the toy store a few days later, leaning rather heavily on his brand new cane. He probably won't need it in a few weeks, hopefully, and physiotherapy seems to be doing the trick lately. He's still adjusting to having a healthy leg once again - or as healthy as it can be after years of barely using it. But the prognosis is quite good and his doctor is confident, even if he's feeling a bit of pain today - his own fault, really, for thinking he could manage without any crutches or a cane already.<p>

John, however, isn't feeling particularly confident at the moment, as he stares at dozens and dozens of dolls in front of him. There are Barbies and other dolls like those, and then there are baby dolls, and several types of that. There is one who apparently drinks milk and digests it to the very end, something he doesn't find especially ideal, but he is hardly an expert on the matter. He skeptically picks out a Barbie - all girls like Barbie, right? But perhaps she is too young for that. He sighs for what must be the third time in the five minutes he has been standing here when a voice interrupts him.

"How old is she?"

He turns around, searching for the source of the sweet voice, and he can't hide his surprise when he sees her for the first time - properly. The voice goes perfectly well with her, of course - sweet and kind. Her hair is in a ponytail again, and she looks tired, but he is sure he has yet to meet a lovelier person. She looks embarrassed when he doesn't answer right away, and he quickly composes himself.

"She's nearly three," he answers rather weakly, and she approaches him, but still with a considerable distance between them. She is shorter than he originally assumed, very petite and even younger than he first thought. She looks at the collection of pink boxes around them, and he tries not to stare at the way her jeans hug her legs. Her clothes are practical and she is wearing sneakers.

"Barbies are good at any age but my niece used to love the babies," she shrugged. "If she could feed them or change them or put them to sleep, the better. They like to feel useful at that age. She's a little older now and she loves Barbies though."

It does make sense. She is holding a pink Barbie box herself, and he decides to take her advice. Robert did say his granddaughter likes dolls - he could have been more specific, but then John couldn't have known how difficult it would be. He selects a baby doll instead - one that apparently cries and sleeps. He hopes Tom and Sybil will forgive him for the noise it will likely cause. He smiles at his neighbour.

"Thanks. I'm clueless at these things," he says honestly.

She laughs - it's a beautiful sound. "No problem. I don't suppose you could help me with a toy for a six-year-old boy?"

Her accent is different, probably from the north. He finds it endearing.

John thinks for a second. He doesn't really know how to deal with children. "Super-heroes? Just a wild guess, though."

She contemplates his suggestion and smiles. "I'll try it. Thank you."

"Mass birthday this weekend?" he asks, unsure why. She doesn't seem to mind his question.

"Just a trip back home, and I promised gifts," she rolled her eyes in good nature. "What about you?"

"My friend's daughter's birthday," he doesn't know why he doesn't say granddaughter instead, as it is the truth, but then he is friends with Tom and it seems more sensible, even if only for a minute.

"I'm sure she'll love it," she says with a kind smile. "I am-"

But whatever she is going to say will never be, as the unmistakable sound of a mobile interrupts her. She looks at him apologetically, and John takes this as his cue to leave.

"I best get going," he says as she looks for her phone in her purse. "Thank you for helping. Really."

"Oh, it was nothing. Have fun at the birthday party," she says, and he's out on the aisle just as he listens to her greeting whoever was calling her.

It's only later, when he's walking out of the to toy store and her sweet voice is still ringing against his ears, that he realises he never asked her name.

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><p>John doesn't believe in fate; he never did. Coincidences happen and that is it. He never thought he would talk to his neighbour again. He sees her rarely. She must have a very weird schedule, and that is saying something, coming from a man who has no real schedule of his own. It is a shame, really - it was hard thinking about her as the neighbour. He knows more about her life than he probably should. She's quiet and doesn't seem to have a lot of friends, or at least she doesn't have them over often. He knows she owns a cat, and that she likes to read. He once wondered if maybe she has read his own book, but he puts the thought aside. For her own good, he hopes she hasn't.<p>

He's walking slowly, steadily. His knee has been better this week, and he hopes for some improvement today, at physiotherapy. It's been raining, and that is no news at all in London. His steps are more careful against the pavement, just as he approaches the doors to the hospital. He's about to enter when the door opens quite suddenly, and he takes a step back. The person who is coming out, however, isn't as steady as he is, and he can barely make out a wave of blonde hair stumbling. He acts as quickly as he can, his hand grasping out for the person but losing his balance instead.

A shot of pain rings through his leg as he falls, and he barely registers the fact that someone has fallen beside him. His eyes close to cope with the pain, and when he opens them he sees a name tag and a picture of someone he recognizes.

_Anna Smith_.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" she asks in the same sweet voice he has been thinking about for days now. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it was raining, I-"

She is still talking when he manages to look at her, properly now. She's wearing light pink scrubs and a sweater, and her hair is in the ponytail he is used to seeing by now. He decides to try to get up on his own, reaching for his cane, but she helps him before he can even try. Her hands are on his arm and she is leaning down to retrieve his cane before he can even think of it. She is still apologizing, brushing off whatever dirt that might have got onto his coat.

"I'll be fine," he manages to say, and she stops talking when he takes his arm away from her. "Really, don't worry."

"You'd think a nurse would have been more careful. I am so sorry," she says again, visibly embarrassed. "People don't usually come from this entrance, and I didn't expect the pavement to be so wet. I'm so sorry. Oh, and your cane!"

He looks down and see a few scratches against the wood - he swears most of it was already there before this fall, but her expression is suddenly very sad. He averts his eyes, not wanting to see pity in hers. He has seen it far too often, ever since he came back from the war, as he developed a limp, and now with the cane that has been part of his life for the past few weeks. He doesn't need anyone's pity; he was a healthy man, and by all means in a few months he won't be needing the assistance of a cane to walk.

"I'm alright," he insists, and notices a slight abrasion on the palm of her hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she says after a moment. "Yeah, I'm just fine. Nothing to worry about."

"Then it's all good," he manages a tight smile, and she smiles back. He has never seen eyes bluer than hers. He averts his gaze once more, chancing a look at his watch. "I should get going, I have an appointment in a few minutes."

"Right, of course," she says quickly, stepping away. "I should go too, or I'll miss the train home. I really am so sorry."

"I can manage. At any rate, I'm already at the hospital," the joke sounds forced even to his ears, but Anna Smith laughs all the same.

"Okay then. I guess I'll see you around," she has a small smile on her face, and he can't help but smile too.

"You probably will," he says, and turns around, reaching for the door. He looks inside to make sure no one is coming out again, but before he goes in her voice startles him.

"I'm Anna, by the way," she yells, already by the street, looking slightly flustered.

"John," he says, and she smiles brightly at the discovery of his name.

"See you later, John," she says, because she most likely will.

He walks in with a smile on his face, despite the pain coming from his leg.

Anna Smith. An ordinary name for an extraordinary person.

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><p>Winter is just around the corner, and he isn't particularly looking forward to it. He has been cleared from using the cane, but he doesn't quite trust himself against the little snow that falls every night and is still there in the morning. He spends most of his time inside his flat. His book has been flowing particularly well and he thinks he might be able to finish it in the next few weeks. With the colder weather, he has refrained from writing outside on the small balcony, but something keeps him from closing the curtains.<p>

Or, rather, someone.

He has talked to Anna a few times since their encounter at the hospital. Oddly enough, he hasn't seen her there since the incident. When they see each other, it's usually on the street, leaving or entering their apartment buildings, and once he saw her at the nearest pharmacy, but their talks were always short and impersonal. The exact kind of conversation one would have with their neighbours.

He doesn't think there is anything more than that, of course. He has always enjoyed looking out, a viewer to other people's lives, and he can't help but seeing a bit of hers as well. Tonight she is home, and he can make out the period drama on the television in the small living room. He can just see the back of her head, probably lying on the couch with the cat. Lately he has been wondering what is the name of the cat.

Tonight, he is the one who has company; Robert stopped by to invite him over for a New Year's party, and he ended up staying for dinner. John appreciates the company; Robert has been one of the few constant people in his life since the war, and he is more like a brother than a friend sometimes. He has even offered to try to set him up with someone from his company, but John won't consider it. He has enough going on in his life, even if it isn't much.

"You know, Rosamund recently divorced," he comments once John declines the offer of a blind date with a secretary.

"Really? Is it the third, then?" John says without an inch of attention, reclining back on his seat and crossing his arms. The television in Anna's living room is faded to black.

"Yeah, you wouldn't work out. But then who would, with Rosamund, I have no idea," Robert says, arching his eyebrows. "She does have trouble sharing her life, but no one can accuse her of not trying. You, on the other hand, haven't tried dating in a very long time. It doesn't have to be a serious thing, really..."

John barely paid any attention to what Robert was saying; he was used to this speech, therefore it is easy to nod when it is convenient and shake his head anytime he has to agree with his friend. He knows Robert means well, but he doubts a woman would make much of a difference in his life now. He wasn't young anymore, had no children of his own and no desire to start a relationship from zero, with all the uncertainties and troubles that would surely lay ahead.

Anna is closing the curtains now, yawning rather openly, and John smiles. How easy life once seemed, not that long ago. It is funny how fast things can change.

He focuses when he sees movement, and Anna is waving at him. He lets out a somewhat embarrassed sigh and waves back. Robert isn't talking anymore, he notices. Anna closes the curtains.

"She's pretty," his friend says, visibly interested. John suddenly feels uncomfortable. "Who is she?"

"My neighbour," John states simply. Robert glares at him.

"And you know her?"

"Well, yes. Not very well, of course. Anna is a nurse at the hospital," John explains, though there is no need, and it isn't how he met Anna anyway. It feels wrong somehow, to talk of her, when there is absolutely nothing but cordiality between them.

"Anna?" Robert repeats, surprised. "So you know her name. You never know your neighbour's names. It's not like you're very social."

"I can be social sometimes," John defends, but it's unbelievable even to his own ears.

"Fine then. Who is your downstairs neighbour?"

John hesitated. He doesn't know - it's a woman, but he can't remember her name or her face.

"Right," his friend smiles triumphantly and drinks the rest of the beer. "I'll get going. Invite Anna to the party."

"Robert, don't be daft," John says as Robert stands up.

"Give me one reason why you can't invite her," Robert insists, and John shakes his head. "Really, John. The worst that can happen is that you get a no for an answer. But I think she may like you, so why not?"

Robert's suggestion is insane, really. He has no reason why he should even think of inviting Anna, who will probably be busy with her own friends or perhaps even a boyfriend at New Year's Eve. He shouldn't even consider such a thing.

And yet, before sleep that night, he can't help but remember her sweet smile as she waved at him earlier.

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><p>It's Christmas Eve and he braces himself as he goes out, cursing at himself for not checking the fridge before today. He enjoys cooking, and though he is hardly a religious man, he feels like not celebrating Christmas would make his mother very disappointed. Robert has invited him to join the family celebrations, but John isn't particularly keen on spending the day with his friend's family when he is already set to spend Christmas Day there. He isn't one to celebrate, but he can prepare a nice proper meal for himself once in a while, and he supposes Christmas deserves that. His book is nearly finished, and his agent thinks it will be a success, though John is very hesitant to let himself think of it that way. Still, there is at least that to celebrate.<p>

He's standing in the line for the cashier when she steps behind him, her blonde hair catching his eye instantly. She's holding a basket and he notices a bottle of wine and a few snacks.

"Late Christmas shopping?" She asks cheerfully. Her hair is long and wavy and she looks absolutely beautiful. He can't stop staring.

"Forgot a few things, and what a great time to go grocery shopping," he says jokingly, motioning to the rather crowded store around them. "What about you? Going to spend it with your family?"

She smiles rather sadly. "No, I'll work tomorrow. No big Christmas for me," she rolls her eyes. "My friend invited me to this dinner, so I thought why not, even though I barely know anyone there. Can't be too bad, and it's an opportunity to see people. I really still don't know many people in London."

For perhaps a quarter of a second, he considers inviting her to dinner at his own place, but he quickly catches himself. He highly doubts she has any problem in meeting people, but she does seem to work very hard. Her schedule is inconsistent and busy - or so he thinks, really, he doesn't pay that much attention to her flat.

"I'm sure you'll have fun," he smiles, but he knows it does not reach his eyes.

"What about you?" she seems rather anxious for a moment, but he dismisses that thought.

"I'm spending the day with friends tomorrow," he says simply, and she nods. It's his turn in the cashier.

Later, as he is exiting, he looks at her again and her eyes are glimmering. Perhaps his mind is playing tricks on him. "Happy Christmas, Anna. Have fun tonight."

She smiles, nonetheless, but he thinks she looks a bit disappointed. "Happy Christmas, John."

When he's home, cooking, and the windows of her flat are closed and the lights are out, he chastises himself for not taking a chance. Perhaps she would have accepted his invitation. Perhaps, now, she was meeting someone, someone that could change her life. Perhaps he has just lost the only chance he will ever have.

He can't write at all that evening, and his plans to finish the book are crushed. He goes to bed early, and doesn't think his dinner is as good as it could have been.

On the next morning, however, as he is leaving for Robert's place, there is a Christmas card in his mailbox signed with her name.

* * *

><p>The local grocery store seems to be their meeting point, as it is, for a week later he sees her there, and in the least likely place for him to be seen, nonetheless: the alcoholic beverages aisle. He sees her before she sees him, as she seems to be choosing a wine, and since he is headed that way, it seems impolite not to talk to her. She's wearing more practical clothes today, but then it is rather early in the morning. He needs a wine himself, because it wouldn't do for him to show up at Robert and Cora's party empty handed.<p>

"Any suggestion?" He feels confident enough to start a conversation, but almost regrets it as she jumps at the sound of his voice.

"John, you made me jump!" she says, but there's that sweet smile on her face again. She narrows her eyes at him. "What makes you think I would be good at choosing a wine?"

He arches his eyebrows. "You'd be better than me, at any rate. I don't drink."

A look of understanding crosses her face. "Well, what would the occasion be?"

"New Year," he explains. "I must attend a party tonight. I'm not exactly a big fan of such occasions but my mate might kill me if I don't show up. Apparently I am not very social."

She laughs. "Well, you seem pretty social to me."

"Maybe it's just with you," he says lightly, before he can think about it, and she is slightly flustered. He clears his throat. "Well then?"

She gives him a few suggestions, and he ends up choosing a red wine from California - not exactly cheap but he thinks Cora will appreciate it. He feels that he can spend a bit now, knowing that his book will likely be published in the next few months - so long as he writes the last pages this week. Anna chooses a wine herself. His leg has been feeling particularly good the last week, and his cane has been retired for the moment - hopefully forever.

"No work today for you, I hope?" he asks as they reach the cashier and he lets her go in front of him.

Anna shakes her head. "No. I changed to the day shift so that's why I had to work on Christmas. I had planned on going home today but I completely forgot that my sister would be away traveling," she rolled her eyes. "Silly, really. She told me months ago, but I thought she would only go next week."

"That's a shame," he says, though he doesn't mean it. He has another opportunity. There are few items in her basket; chocolate, milk, cat food, cookies and the wine. Clearly she isn't planning on doing anything today. He just needs to act on it.

"Oh, did you get my card on Christmas?" Anna asks suddenly.

"I did," he answers numbly, but quickly recovers himself and smiles. "Thank you, I really appreciate it. I wanted to send you something too, but I don't know the number of your flat."

She smiles brightly at him. "That's no problem. I had to ask Mrs O'Connell for yours," she says, and at his confused look she adds, "I think she's your downstairs neighbour. Her poor grandson was born early so he had to spend some time at the hospital. She visited him every day. Very sweet lady, but she didn't seem to know you very well. In fact, she couldn't even tell me your surname."

"It's Bates," he says quickly. "I guess I am not very social, after all."

Anna giggles. "That's all right."

"So you work with babies?" he asks, and that is not the question he wants to ask her, but he is interested all the same.

Anna nods and smiles. "I'm a neonatal nurse."

Their conversation is interrupted when Anna pays for her groceries, offering the attendant a smile and stepping aside. He wants to ask if she'll wait for him, as he only has the wine, but she does anyway, before he even asks. They are outside just a few minutes later, and he insists on carrying one of her bags.

The conversation flows easily with her, and he feels like this is their first proper one. She answers his questions and ask some of her own; he supposes he isn't the only one looking out their window every day. He learns that while her work can be very time consuming she is quite happy with it, and hopes for a promotion soon. He tells her a bit about his book, and she mentions that she loves to read - but he already knows that. He makes her promise she won't read his first failed book. He isn't convinced when she says she won't.

They are standing outside her apartment building and he returns her one of the bags he is carrying. She greets the teenage boy he has seen countless times outside his window as the boy enters the building and she turns to John with a smile on her face. This is his chance.

"Thanks for the company, John," Anna says. "Or maybe I should say Mr Bates."

He chuckles at the teasing tone of her voice. "John is fine. And it was a pleasure."

"Until some other day, then," she sighs. "Oh, and a happy New Year, of course."

John purses his lips. "Happy New Year, Anna."

She enters the building and closes the door behind her with one last smile. John cringes and curses at himself - he has just missed another opportunity, likely the last one. If he thinks about it, really, it's not like she would accept his invitation. She's clearly friendly with everyone around her. He can't mistake her naturally nice, sweet personality for a flirt - it would be terribly unfair for her. Anna clearly has her head in the right place; she has stability, is a compassionate human being and seems to know how to talk to people. He is definitely the complete opposite of her.

He has just turned to cross the street when he hears the door opening and her voice is saying his name again.

"Good, you're still there," she says, her practical nature quickly making her way towards him. He turns, surprised. "You have my bag. This one has your wine."

She quickly swaps their bags, with an agility he wouldn't have guessed she had, for such a tiny woman. She's smiling, and she is saying something, but he isn't paying attention.

"Anna, would you like to go to the party tonight with me?" the words leave his lips before he can do anything about it, and Anna suddenly stops talking. "I mean, it's nothing huge, really. At least I hope not. My mate's wife is known for overdoing things like this, but-"

"I'd love to go with you," Anna interrupts him.

"That's... That's great," he says with a smile. "Is 8 okay for you?"

She is smiling. "Perfect. I'm in number 28."

"Right. Great, I'll see you then."

He can only breathe properly when she's inside again, and he feels relieved all of sudden - he feels like he is a teenage boy again, but then it has been a few years since he asked anyone out.

It doesn't matter, he thinks as he crosses the street. She said yes.

* * *

><p>It's his first time actually taking in this view. It's quite different being on the other side of the street but he likes it. His flat is there, but there are no lights on, as no one is home. Anna's living room is quite lit up though - there's some music playing, and Anna's cat, Oscar, is lying on the sofa, though John suspects the feline doesn't like him much. Since Anna has been at his place quite a few times, she insisted it was her turn to entertain him now, and really, he rather likes it. Her flat is much more homely than his, even though she has been living here for just under seven months - whilst he has been in his flat for a little over four years. There are photographs and paintings and cushions and he likes it very much - just like her.<p>

It is almost surreal to be standings here now. How many times did he imagine what was it like, to be with her, to visit her? Never in his wildest fantasies he let himself imagine he would one day stand here. And yet, here he is, after nearly two months of dating Anna and thoroughly enjoying the experience. Tonight they were celebrating the fact that he has recently signed a deal to publish his book, for a well-known publisher, which is a big deal in itself. Either way, this book should sell much better than the first one, not that that is a hard accomplishment. Anna is ecstatic for him, almost even more than himself; it is great to be able to share this with her, and he is just happy to be able to say that he is, for the first time, in a good place - financially and personally. He hopes it will continue that way; though the relationship with Anna is still so new, the expectations he used to hate in relationships flowered themselves quickly with Anna. Ever since the New Year's Eve party, it seemed to him that she changed his life simply by being in it. He can't let her go.

"What are you doing there by yourself?" Anna emerges from the kitchen, and he loves the soft lilt of her accent as she speaks.

"Just taking in the view," he says simply, turning around. His arms instantly wrap themselves around her waist and pull her close to him. "It is my first time here, after all."

"You're just looking at your flat, aren't you?" she teases, the most delicious smile all over her face. She runs her fingers through his hair slowly.

"I was curious to see how it was like over here," he admits, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Not much different, I'm afraid. Only if you're here I don't care to look out the window," she says, and he chuckles.

"No, you're wrong. You see, from where I'm standing," he starts, peppering kisses over her jaw and neck, "the view is much better than the one from my place."

"Hmmm," he thinks Anna agrees. "You should see the view from my bedroom, then."

"You naughty girl," he groans into her lips, and the laughter he gets in response is more than enough to make him follow her into the bedroom, just minutes later.

Indeed, he rather enjoys the view from the bedroom.

* * *

><p>The words flow easily as he types, and he feels particularly inspired this evening. It's very dark outside, and he knows he should go to bed and try to sleep soon, but he isn't keen on letting his train of thought go away. So he types, occasionally looking out the window to see any sort of signal that Anna is home. What with their proximity, they both were worried about the lack of space in their relationship. Much as he loves having Anna around, he is used to being a loner, and the last thing he wants is for her go feel suffocated, especially when she mentioned the fact that she hadn't been to her flat in a few days. This led to a discussion, however, which was highly unusual for them, as they rarely argue. They talked things through and quickly worked it out, he hoped, but what with Anna's shifts at the hospital, it still feels like their discussion isn't completely over.<p>

And he misses her, terribly, every second of the day. He realises he doesn't want to be a loner ever again. But if she needs more space, he will give it to her.

As the flat across the street remains dark, and John hopes to see her there quite soon, he focuses on his writing. His book will be released in just a few weeks, and the publisher is interested in another, if this one does as well as they expect. John isn't about to waste any spur of inspiration for a new book on anything at the moment.

He stops immediately once he sees Anna standing by the doorway, looking at him. She has already taken her shoes off and looks exhausted, but the sight of her alone is enough to thrill him.

"I thought you would go to your place tonight," he comments as she crosses the room.

She merely shakes her head. "I miss you."

He pulls away from the desk slightly, and she settles on his lap, giving him a light kiss on the lips.

"Long day?" John asks, tucking a strand of hair that has fallen from her ponytail behind her ear.

"Better now," she smiles, and he sees conflict in her eyes. "I'm sorry about this morning. I don't need more space. I was just stressed over today's surgeries and then there's the promotion next week-"

"It's fine," he nuzzles against her neck softly. She smells of soap and of Anna. "I understand."

"You are too good to me," she says in wonder, and he can say the same.

"I believe that sentence is mine," he retorts. Anna giggles. "Have you had dinner? Do you want me to run you a bath?"

Anna groans. "They both sound very tempting. What did you have for dinner?"

At that, John is silent, knowing what is to come.

"John," Anna starts, "you know you really need to work on these writer habits of yours."

"But I will. I'll order pizza and while we wait you can have your bath," he offers quickly, forcing her to drop the previous subject. She pulls away from him. "What do you say?"

She pretends to think about it, and squeezes her her waist softly. "Only if you join me for that bath."

He can't resist her. "It's a deal."

* * *

><p>It started slowly. At the beginning of the relationship they would share their time between both sides of the street, sometimes staying at his places, other times at hers. But as John stays home a lot more than Anna, his place was the first to start to look like their place - a toothbrush took a place next to his, and before he knew it, there were many more items.<p>

The drawer she originally kept for her own things is definitely no more; there are lotions and shampoos and other very feminine items in his bathroom now. He is quite sure his closet has been taken over completely, but then he was never one to care much about clothes. Her books are constantly seen around the flat, sitting on her bedside table or on the coffee table, in the living room. Even Oscar has become a constant occupant of his place, especially when Anna has a few days off. She argues that it is much easier for them to stay here, as she is always coming and going; his flat is much bigger too, and he has a pretty big tub in the main bathroom, which apparently is a huge deal for her. He can't say he doesn't enjoy it either.

As he opens the door, all these changes go unnoticed, as he is used to them. He is, however, surprised to see Oscar staring at him - Anna told him mere hours ago that she would be staying at her flat tonight. Having just been away for a launching weekend in Liverpool, John's flight was scheduled quite late and he insisted she wouldn't have to pick him up at the airport. Due to work, she had been unable to accompany him, though she has been a great support now that his book can be seen in many bookstores all over the country. Still, if Oscar is here, she must be too. The thought in itself makes him feel giddy all of sudden, even if the cat is still unamazed by John's presence in his life.

He leaves his suitcase in the living room and walks slowly into the corridor that leads to his bedroom. His life is certainly a lot busier these days. The book was released just merely a month ago, and it has thankfully been selling very well. Interviews and appearances at bookstores have been scheduled and he is happy to do it all, even if he does prefer the actively writing part of being a writer.

He finds Anna asleep on the bed, her gentle snores filling the room. A smile crosses his features; it's impossible not to. Much as she has changed the way he lives nowadays, he loves it - and loves her even more. He can't resist kissing her hair softly, and she groans - he knows it's not always a good idea to interrupt her sleep.

"John?" she mumbles after a moment, her eyes still closed.

"Hey, I'm home," he says simply, pulling away from her but adjusting the covers against her body. She snuggles further into the pillow.

"Come to bed," she barely manages to say, and he has to stop himself from laughing.

"In a minute," he says, but he doubts she is still listening.

He takes a quick shower, eager to shake off the airplane air from his skin, before joining her in bed. He doesn't question why she's at his place, and he doesn't doubt that she has spent the weekend here anyway. She snuggles against him when he slips his arms around her and presses his front to her back. He's exhausted, and as he smells the sweet scent of Anna's hair, he is incredibly glad that he is home.

As he is drifting off to sleep, moments later, he briefly thinks that it's time they should properly share the flat.

* * *

><p>There are boxes everywhere. In every single room of the flat there are boxes to empty and things to organize. Anna is busy between her flat and his, bringing in new things whilst he is supposed to bring the heavier boxes on his own; he has gathered the help of Robert and his sons-in-law for the move of the heavier furniture that will join his at his flat, and he is very happy that quite a few of those will remain in Anna's soon to be former flat.<p>

Now, he has taken a moment to sit down on the sofa, exhausted after such a long day. Their plan is for Anna to be moved in completely by the weekend, and as she storms in with yet another box his suggestion that it is time to stop is met by a glare. He supposes it is his fault, as he is the one who asked her to move in, but he suspects she is just angry because he is lying on the sofa with Oscar by his legs. He can't blame the cat; he too is almost afraid that Anna might put him inside a box by mistake.

Reluctantly, he stands up, ready to convince Anna to stop for a moment whilst he cooks dinner. He finds her in the closet, and the bedroom is a mess of clothes and shoes she is trying to organize. He cringes slightly but stops by the door.

"Anna, we've been on this all day," he says quietly. "I'll cook some dinner and you can relax for a bit. We start again tomorrow morning."

She sighs and turns around. "I need to at least organize the clothes. You do remember that I need to be out of my flat by Saturday, don't you?"

"I do, and we can start by celebrating with... A lasagna, maybe? And that wine that you love," he adds, and this gets a smile out of her.

"Okay," she eventually agrees. "But I'll work on this before dinner. And then we can just relax."

"Perfect. Oscar will be thankful. I think he is developing some kind of phobia towards boxes," John says, and Anna giggles as she moves some of his shirts to one side. "I remember when you were moving in across the street."

She sends him a smile, obviously surprised. "You do?"

He nods. "You had a ponytail. Stopped working on the move to have a glass of water. And then you looked at me."

She chuckles. "That's right. I remember thinking it would be so good to have a man helping me move. It was hard doing so much by myself."

"I wondered what made you move. Why were you there," he explains, and she is smirking. "Never I would have imagined your next home would be here. I was just in a contemplative mood."

"Aren't you always?" Anna asks jokingly, moving some of his coats to make some space for hers and he is ready to go to the kitchen and get started on dinner when he hears the sound of something falling.

He freezes on his spot, watching as Anna bends down to retrieve the small box to its place. He watches as she looks rather surprised at it, before looking thoroughly confused. It's not how it is supposed to be; not particularly romantic, and he doesn't get down on one knee because he knows she would chastise him for it, even if his leg feels perfectly fine now. It is far from perfect, but her answer is the most perfect thing he has ever heard.

She says yes, and they forget dinner and the move and all the other boxes filling the flat. This is important enough to make Anna stop working.

* * *

><p>John doesn't hear her come in and is startled when he feels her arms embracing him from behind. It is a rather pleasant day and he welcomes the breeze, standing outside. Anna rests her head against his shoulder and he smiles.<p>

"You are miles away from here," she says, and he feels her breath against his skin. "Come back."

He chuckles and brings one of her hands to his lips. "I'm here. Just thinking."

"About the novel?"

"I was thinking about our move, actually," he explains, and Anna pulls away to stand beside him. "You have quite a lot of things."

Anna laughs. "We both do. I'm not the one who owns three quarters of that not so small library."

He agrees because it is the truth. They will definitely have some trouble putting all their things into boxes - it had been hard enough when Anna moved in. Now it is much worse - it's like they have doubled up their own belongings since they started living together. And perhaps they really have. He puts his arm around Anna's shoulders and she sighs. She's wearing a loose blouse and very fitted jeans, though he is unsure if she will be able to wear them much longer. He can just make out the silhouette of the swell of her stomach, which becomes much more pronounced when she rests her hand on it. He kisses her temple. Her wedding band shines against the light.

"We don't have to move if you don't want to," she says after a moment. "I mean, we can work with the space we have here. That was the original plan anyway. And I know how much you love this place."

"Are you getting cold feet now?" he asks teasingly, and Anna shakes her head promptly. "No, I want to move. I love this place but I love you and the little one more."

The pregnancy was a bit of a surprise, so early into their marriage, as they weren't exactly trying just yet. Nothing was being done to prevent it, however, so he guesses they didn't have a lot of reason to be surprised after all. The timing was good, at any rate; his third book has just been finished and the others still sold fairly well, even being translated to a few languages. But as much as they love the flat and the neighbourhood, it doesn't quite feel that it is the most ideal place for their baby. He thinks a child must have space - a garden and a bigger living room to mess with. They had the means, financially, and it didn't take much to convince Anna that they should go house hunting soon.

And so they did, and soon they found a house they both quite liked. A few more bedrooms than necessary, really, but there is quite a big garden and more than enough room for a baby. Anna fell in love with it - and reasoned that they can work on filling the other bedrooms in a few years, as it is. He held no objections to that. They have just about four months until the baby's birth, and a lot will have to be done before it happens.

"I'm really excited about it," Anna confesses, her eyes shining bright, barely containing her happiness. "I can't wait to be able to decorate the baby's room."

"Well, we'll have to decorate a few things before that," he laughs. "But I can't wait either."

"It's like the beginning of a new journey," she says giddily. "Or at least, the beginning of Elizabeth's journey. A rather terrifying one for us, I must say."

"She'll do fine, if she's anything like you," they share a smile.

"She isn't even out here yet and she already has you wrapped around her fingers," Anna shakes her head. "Come on, let's get going. You promised we would go shopping today."

He cringes at the mention of shopping but follows her inside. He has been in this place for years, and somehow it only feels like home since Anna arrived across the street, two years ago. Moving usually brings new starts, he once thought. His own new start began with Anna's move. He is eager to continue with her this time around.


End file.
